Selected short stories -1892-1895- translated by Constance Garnett

'He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage,' Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church Slavonic. 'Sh-sh!' he said as they went from the bedroom into the room next to the study. 'Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust.'

He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and choking with laughter, said that all that 'dear George' wanted to complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not understand what had happened exactly.

'But how about the husband?' he asked in perplexity, after they had played three rubbers.

'I don't know,' answered Orlov.

Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, and he did not speak again till supper- time. When they were seated at supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word:

'Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's content -- that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?'

'But does it make any difference?'

'Hm! . . . .' Pekarsky mused. 'Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend,' he went on, evidently thinking hard: 'if I ever marry again and you take it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable and advanced, but I can't agree with that . . . what shall I call it? . . . romantic attitude?'

Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, thought a little, and said:

'I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her.'

'No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev.'

'Why should I read him? I have read him already.'

'Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should serve his idea,' said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. 'The ends of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be reduced to the flat of the man she loves. . . . And so not to live in the same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it.'

'What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand,' said Gruzin softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. 'Do you remember, George, how in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in Italy, and suddenly hears, 'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'' Gruzin hummed. 'It's fine.'

But she hasn't come to settle with you by force,' said Pekarsky. 'It was your own wish.'

'What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a charming joke on her part.'

Everybody laughed.

'I couldn't have wished for such a thing,' said Orlov in the tone of a man compelled to justify himself. 'I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon -- that is, she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains.'

'You should give her a talking to,' said Pekarsky.

'What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the lower classes -- for instance, the French workman -- spends ten sous on dinner, five sous on his wine, and five or ten sous on woman, and devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many sous, but her whole soul. I might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing left to live for.'

'Don't say anything to her,' said Pekarsky, 'but simply take a separate flat for her, that's all.'

'That's easy to say.'

There was a brief silence.

'But she is charming,' said Kukushkin. 'She is exquisite. Such women imagine that they will be in love for ever,